


Titles

by Ethereal_Red



Series: Tangled Relations [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:52:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3959968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethereal_Red/pseuds/Ethereal_Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was said that Imperial Intelligence Watchers would always recognize one of their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Titles

_"My title is who I am. Any other name I gave you would be a lie."_

Ironic that he’d never fully realized the truth of his own words, not until the day they were no longer necessary.

_“I’m Watcher One, from Imperial Intelligence.”_

But Watcher One died that day, just another Imperial who met his end beneath the diseased wastelands of Taris; if the body count didn’t quite match up, well, perhaps the Republic brought in his corpse for analysis or the nexus thought him a particularly tasty snack.  The injured man who cautiously, disbelievingly unwrapped a medpac stamped with the insignia of the Jedi Order, the man who snuck into an outpost with suspicious ease and sliced into a small shuttle to escape offworld, that man was not Watcher One.

His exact identity was yet to be determined, but it was almost certainly a lie.

* * *

 

“Why’d you let him go?”

Cipher Nine didn’t answer, looking straight ahead as he tried to ignore the seething Rattataki glaring holes into his head.  The truth was, he didn’t know; lying to Watcher Two had been a spur-of-the moment decision.  But the words had been surprisingly easy, almost disturbingly so, and despite their treasonous nature he couldn’t bring himself to regret them.

Watcher X was free, and Cipher Nine had covered his escape.

The lift slowed to a halt and the doors slid open; Kaliyo shoved past him, her durasteel boots clanking loudly on the floor.  Cipher followed at a more leisurely pace, not too worried about any attempts to tell Intelligence the truth.

They both knew what would happen if she tried.

* * *

 

The news was everywhere on the HoloNet and dominated all of Republic space, spelled out in stark headlines scrolling behind smiling reporters who did little to hide their joy.  Darth Angral, the mastermind behind the Sacking of Coruscant, was dead, killed by two young Jedi on his very own battle cruiser as he attempted to enact a second genocide of their Order.

With his death, Watcher One could return from the dead.  No doubt Imperial Intelligence would welcome, perhaps even celebrate his return, especially with the information he’d gleaned while living in the Republic.

The man who’d been Watcher One smiled ruefully as he set down his drink and flagged down a server to place his order.

Headquarters was sure to be in a state of high alert for much of the foreseeable future as Sith rushed to fill the power vacuum and claw at what remained of Angral’s formidable powerbase.  Watcher One had always prided himself on his ability to maintain a safe distance from Sith power plays; it was logical that he remain dead, if only to stay far away from such a volatile situation.

* * *

 

_“I’m Watcher X.  Formerly Watcher Five, formerly Minder Eight.”_

Some days, he could barely remember his original name.

It did not matter.  The man who claimed it was long gone, one of many sacrificed in the pursuit of something greater.

Watcher X.  Watcher Five.  Minder Eight.

Denizen of Shadow Town.  Asset of Imperial Intelligence.  Loyal citizen of the Empire.

A free man.

What was in a title?

What was in a name?

Imperial Intelligence would have him believe they were one and the same.  Perhaps they were.  Perhaps they weren’t.

It did not matter.  They were him, and he was free.

* * *

 

The customer washed down the last of his steak with a glass of Corellian nectar, sighing contentedly as he savored the rich flavors on his tongue.  The server paused at his table, picking up the empty plates and stacking them on his already full arm with practiced ease.

“I trust your meal was satisfactory sir,” the server said in a thick Outer Rim accent, the cybernetics around his left eye glittering as he nodded politely.

“It certainly was, thank you,” the customer replied with a distinctly Coruscanti lilt to his words, returning the nod and dabbing at his moustache as he prepared to leave.

They parted ways and never spoke again.


End file.
